


Magic tricks (and a treat)

by JustDanny



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: F/M, Gus deserves more love, magic cookies!, they're made for each other they just don't know it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27302170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustDanny/pseuds/JustDanny
Summary: The one where Shawn's a child, Lassie's nickname's quite literal, and Juliet is not ready to be a single mom. Or, never trust Woody's 'special' special cookies. Just in case.
Relationships: Burton "Gus" Guster/Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. Cookies!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was my attempt at a scary Halloween one-shot, though it turned out a)not scary at all, b)not an actual one-shot, and c)not to be finished by Halloween.  
> At least I tried.

Burton Guster likes to think he’s not easily scared. He’s faced thieves, murderers, and even the odd serial killer without so much as a shiver; being friends with Shawn Spencer will do that to you. 

Still, he has to admit that Jules has really outdone herself with the decorations for her Halloween party. It makes her house a little bit spooky - not that he’s _really_ falling for it, of course. After all, it’s just a couple of fake spiderwebs and a plastic skeleton and _oh so many plastic spiders and millipedes and maggots_. Nothing that’s actually scary, honestly. Nope; no way he’s starting to regret getting here so late and not bringing a date he could maybe have let walk ahead of him, just because he’s such a gentleman, or maybe hitching a ride with McNab and-

Okay. Calm down, Gus.

He knocks on the door to the awfully quiet house a couple of times, half expecting Juliet to come out in her pajamas to tell him the party’s already over. He hasn’t really been keeping track of the time: work at Psych has made him late on his route, and in turn catching up with all the paperwork and sales reports has taken him much longer than expected. Still, he promised both Shawn and Jules that he’d be there for the party, and he’s keeping his end of the deal. Even if everyone’s, apparently, already gone home.

The door opens on the third knock, and a pale, dishevelled Juliet stares at him before gesturing an almost aggressive invitation. There are no noises coming from the inside: it makes Gus feel somewhat uneasy, but he supposes she wouldn’t let him in if there was nobody else in there. Maybe they’ve decided on a scary movie night. That would actually be kind of nice: he’s way too tired for a proper party, not to mention he hasn’t even bothered to dress up. 

“So, where’s every-?”

A hug from behind, so tight it almost cuts his breath off, stops him mid-sentence. He lets out a huff and a groan, and tunes in in time to hear Juliet’s choked sobs.

“Thank god you’re here! I don’t- I really don’t know what to do-”

A sinking feeling making itself at home in his stomach, Gus readies himself for just about anything. Countless pictures swarm his head: drunk!Shawn passed out on the couch, half-drunk!Shawn bringing a cadre of strippers, sober!Shawn seeing the fake maggots, shrieking and burning them down. All three have happened at some point in his life: he’s not ready to go through any of those experiences again, not even to help Juliet.

“Alright, alright,” he manages to say once he’s slipped out of the hug. “What did _he_ do this time?”

A new sob is the only answer he receives; he turns to look the detective in the eye only to find her on the verge of hysterical tears. She’s not even wearing a costume, he realizes: the wild hair, the sunken eyes, are all _Juliet_. No make-up, no tricks; just pure, simple desperation.

Something is very, very wrong.

“I- I tried calling you.” As she walks down the corridor, gesturing for him to follow, she recovers a little bit of normalcy. She’s still far from pulling herself together, though; the thought that something Shawn has done could turn Juliet O’Hara into this mess is pretty wild, to be honest. She must have it bad for him. 

Expertly, he suppresses the small pang of jealousy he feels at the thought.

“Yeah, sorry. My phone died; I didn’t bring the charger with me. Didn’t even notice, really; I was-”

“And, and, I don’t know.” She hasn’t even heard him, apparently. With a sigh and a wild, wet look, she gestures towards a closed door. “I cancelled the party, obviously. But, but- I’m so glad you came, Gus. I-” Juliet gulps, puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Signaling the still closed door with her head, she mumbles: “They’re in there.”

“They?”

Dreading the answer, he watches as Jules nods and turns the handle. Pushing the door, she tiptoes into the room; he follows, though he feels a very strong urge to turn around and leave instead. Be strong, Gus. Be brave.

Almost immediately, a bundle of fur and teeth and claws jumps on top of him. He shrieks, hands hitting everything they can find in a panic until Jules shouts something that sounds close enough to words for his brain to start working again.

“Close the door! Don’t let him out!”

Pushing the wooden door back, Gus watches as the woman takes hold of the beast that just tried to kill him, mumbling soothing words and petting its head as best as she can while something small and whiny tugs at her clothes.

“‘m hungry! Huuuuuuuuuungryyyyyyyyy!”

That makes Gus’ stomach fall, his whole body freeze in place. He _knows_ that voice. He’s heard that voice every single day for years and years; he’s grown up with that voice.

“What is-?”

“I have no idea!,” comes Juliet’s desperate answer. “But you need to help me out! I can’t control them both!”

Horrified, Gus’ gaze alternates between the huge, very suspicious dog still sniffing him, and the small child that he’s sure _has to be_ his very best friend in the world. It takes a while for his brain to catch up with what he’s seeing; by then, he’s luckily made his way to the couch. Once there, he does the only rational thing he can think of doing: he faints.

***

When he opens his eyes again, the scene has changed somewhat. A still stressed-out Juliet is busy pouring herself a tall glass of whisky; the giant dog has calmed down, and is resting in a puddle of hair on the floor; and mini-Shawn Spencer is looking at him from next to the beast, eyes wide and full of questions and right index finger exploring the inside of his nostril.

“The Man is awake, Lassie,” the little boy tells his furry companion. Blinking, Gus tries to make sense of the scene.

“What-?”

“You fainted,” is Jules’ only answer. She takes a huge gulp of liquor afterwards.

“I know _that_ .” Gesturing wildly, he asks again. “What happened- _there_?”

A shrug, a pained whine on the dog’s part. Little Shawn Spencer, no more than five years old, keeps looking at him in an unnerving way. He’s apparently tired of drilling into his nose, and has instead taken up pulling on the dog’s ears as his new hobby.

“I have no idea.” With a sigh, Juliet plops down on the couch, right next to him. This close, she smells strongly of both peaches and good bourbon. That, Gus supposes, explains the empty bottle lying on the floor, perilously close to a five-year-old. “I just- They came to help. And they started arguing. They _always_ argue. And, and- Next thing I know, there’s- that.”

She purses her lips, throws a disapproving glare at both dog and child. The two of them recoil slightly, and Juliet empties half of her tall glass into her mouth. Right now, Gus is sort of envious: he too feels like getting drunk.

“That.” She nods, stands up again and leaves the glass on the carpet. Unsteadily stepping towards the coffee table and the bottles still standing on it, she grabs a second plastic glass.

“Do you want something?”

Gus would like to nod. Really. He _needs_ a drink, or four. But someone has to be level-headed; and he discovered long ago that, whenever Shawn is involved, that someone is going to be him.

“Nah. Just-” He gestures, saying nothing and meaning even less. Juliet shrugs and starts to make her way back. She makes a stop to kneel right beside little Shawn and- 

“So, is that-?” She nods without looking at him. She’s half-smiling, though it’s weak and trembling and a little freaky, to be honest.

“Carlton.”

Oh.

Makes for a good joke, at least. The dog’s a Border Collie - not exactly the original Lassie’s breed, of course, but close enough. He seems extremely calm, though, even with baby Shawn focused on pulling on handfuls of dark, soft fur. Maybe the change isn’t completely terrible.

He thinks of telling that to Juliet, trying to get her to laugh a little bit. Thankfully, he’s stopped before he can make such a monumentally stupid mistake by the blonde detective’s deranged smile.

“Been like this for, I don’t know, maybe three to four hours. No idea, really: I lost track of time when I became a, a baby-sitter, I guess, and pet-sitter?” Little Shawn chooses that exact moment to let go of Lassie, crawling instead until he’s made himself comfortable in Juliet’s lap. She surrenders quickly and sits down on the carpet while the boy dozes off.

“Do they-? I mean, it doesn’t exactly seem like they know what’s going on, right?”

Shrugging, Juliet gestures for him to bring her the half-full glass she left behind. Gus complies.

“At the beginning, yes. For about half an hour. That was when I called you first,” she explains. “It was- sort of crazy. Shawn kept wailing. Have you-? And, and Carlton, well. Don’t even get me started.”

As if hearing his name, the dog raises his ears, lets out a soft growl in Gus’ general direction. Still an improvement on their previous relationship, in his opinion.

“So. That was at the beginning. When did they start- losing it, I guess?”

She takes some time to answer. Moving carefully, she makes herself comfortable on the floor. Shawn’s head has found a perfect pillow in her, apparently; the boy’s curled up, eyes closed, snoring so softly it’s almost impossible to hear. 

“I guess- It was progressive. I mean, Shawn was mostly lucid at first, but he started having- fits. And, well, it’s not exactly easy to check if _he_ ,” she points at the dog with her head, “understands me most of the time. But I guess he doesn’t.”

Looking at the dog, Gus can’t help but agree. It is way too peaceful, too laid back to have Lassie’s conscience inside. He still hasn’t been bitten, for a start.

“Okay. Okay. So, ehm.” He stands up and brings the glass to her. Juliet accepts it with a grateful smile, and proceeds to down all its contents in one last, desperate gulp.

“Yeah. That was more or less what I was about to say,” she tells him softly afterwards. 

***

They’re both asleep when they start hearing the knocks. Yawning, Juliet tries to disentangle Shawn from her own body: the kid sleeps like a baby koala. With a groan, she makes an effort to move; Gus is faster.

“Are you expecting someone?,” he asks on the way to the door. He doesn’t get to hear her answer, though, drowned as it is in a chorus of dog barks and whiny protests against waking up.

He still opens the door without looking. No matter what lies outside, it can’t be worse than what’s waiting for him in the living room, he thinks. 

Of course, he hasn't been counting on Woody.

“Hey, man!” The coroner is wearing what he prays is fake blood on his face, along with a dark tunic and a pair of bat-shaped glasses. He’s also smiling widely, apparently unaware of the somber mood Gus is in. “Glad to see you! Is the party still going on?”

With a sigh, Gus lets him in, gesturing for the older man to make himself at home. He somehow doubts that Woody’s going to notice anything’s amiss, really; he also hopes that Juliet will be better at dealing with him than he is right now. 

“Woody, there’s no party,” he mumbles anyway as he walks behind him. Seemingly not hearing him, the coroner marches on, a happy stride that brings him to the living room scene in less than ten seconds. Only then does he stop, looks alternately between whatever is going on inside and Gus.

“Didn’t know you had kids, Caleb,” he finally tells Gus. He sounds cautious, but not in the this-is-something-that-shouldn’t-be-happening-and-I’m-too-afraid-to-ask way he should; it’s more like he’s trying to calculate whether Gus’ age and that of the kid make any sense. Apparently satisfied, he finally nods. “He looks just like you.”

A deep, threatening growl comes from inside, followed by a stern if high-pitched scolding, very obviously directed at Lassie. By the time both Gus and Woody get into the room, Shawn has apparently got bored of being serious and bossy and has decided that riding the huge dog is the way to go. From the couch, Juliet waves tiredly at both men.

“What are you doing here, Woody?,” is all the verbal greeting they get. The coroner shrugs.

“Just came by to, you know. Hang out. And.” He seems a little bit nervous: he’s eyeing the food and drinks scattered about, squinting as if trying to find something amidst the chaos. 

As expected, he gives up pretty quickly.

“Okay, okay, you got me. I need a favor,” he tells her. Arching a brow, she shoots him a glare that’s very obviously screaming for him to leave. Woody ignores it with ease. “See, remember that I baked _special_ cookies for your party?”

The way he makes it sound, Gus is pretty sure nobody in their right mind would ever want to try those cookies. Juliet shrugs.

“What do you mean, _special_?,” she asks, having probably the same thoughts as Gus. “Did you lace the cookies, Woody?”

Though very obviously still drunk, she sounds worryingly dangerous. So much that the coroner takes a step back, making sure his smile is even wider, and shakes his head.

“Of course not! Who would ever do that, knowing that you’ve got Caleb’s kid in here and all?” He points in miny-Shawn’s direction with his head. The boy is currently seriously engaged in a fight against Lassie’s tail; he seems to be losing. “I mean 'special' as in- wholegrain! You know, healthy, children love them, all that.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen a child, Woody.”

Frowning, Jules gestures at Gus to shut up. He complies.

“Okay. I remember your cookies: they must be there somewhere,” she tells the coroner. “What do you want them for?”

At this, the older man blushes madly.

“Well, you see- Remember I told you about my new girlfriend, Luz de Luna?” She nods, even though Gus is pretty sure she has never heard about her before. “Alright, so she’s also made some special cookies. Like, a different special, you see. And I think I- IaccidentallygaveyouthewrongcookiesandIneedthemnow, you see?”

Blinking twice, Juliet shakes her head.

“I have no idea what you just said. Speak slowly, Woody: I’ve been drinking and panicking the whole night. I’m not in the best shape, man,” she tells him. 

“Okay. I said, I accidentally gave you the wrong cookies. I think. And, I need them. More importantly, I need you _not_ to have them. Nobody ate them, right?”

She shrugs. 

“There was no party. They should be there somewhere.”

Pointing at the kid and the dog, now rolling around the carpet in a fluffy, absolutely horrifying mess, Woody speaks again.

“ _They_ didn’t eat them, right? It could be very dangerous.”

A small light seems to shine somewhere in Gus’ brain, too far away for him to make sense of it. He wrinkles his nose.

“What kind of cookies does your girlfriend make, arsenic-flavored?,” he finds himself asking. Woody lets out a nervous giggle.

“Of course not!,” he almost barks. The noise makes both dog and child stop dead in their tracks; Lassie gets to his feet, growling and showing his teeth until Juliet gets up from the couch to calm him down. “Nobody makes arsenic cookies anymore. I should hope.”

“I know, Woody. It was just a joke.” Patience is something Gus has in spades. This whole situation, though, is making him run out of it pretty quickly: he can’t wait until Woody has picked up his _special_ cookies and ran out of there, probably to get high with his new girlfriend somewhere while Jules and himself deal with- this.

“Right. I knew that.” The older man moves slowly, eyeing the dog with caution, to the place where most of the food is lying in a pile. “In any case, they were magic cookies. Much worse than arsenic in the wrong hands, you know.”

That light shining in Gus’ brain? It turns out it’s a full-on supernova. 

“Magic? As in, magic mushrooms?,” he hears himself asking. Woody shakes his head.

“Oh, no. We don’t do that anymore. I mean, as in-”

“Real magic.” 

It’s Juliet that finishes the sentence. The coroner nods happily.

“It can be a lot of fun. But it’s probably not safe around children.”

Pottering about in the mess of spilled punch, crumbled cookies and dirty cheese cubes, he starts humming a song Gus is pretty sure he knows. Sucking on his thumb, little Shawn approaches him to help; it takes Juliet a moment to react, pick the child up and bring him back to safety.

“Woody?” Gus’ own voice sounds dulled, as if it were coming from somewhere far, far away from there. “Woody, those cookies- Do you think they could transform someone? Make them turn into-?”

The older man raises his head to stare at him with wide, blue eyes. Along with the bat glasses, he looks like a special kind of maniac serial killer from TV.

“How did you know?” 

***

“So, okay, I don’t tell this to just about anyone.” Somehow, Gus doubts the veracity of that claim. “But, sometimes Luz de Luna and I like to get- inventive. She’s a fine lady, don’t get me wrong. She’s all shapely and witchy and whatnot. But, routine kills the passion, blah blah blah. So we spice things up a bit: we eat the cookies and tell each other who we want to be tonight, and it’s like-”

“Okay, okay; stop right there.” For emphasis, Juliet puts both her hands up. The coroner obeys almost immediately, probably sensing the danger that poses challenging this version of the blonde detective. “So, you mean that you- eat the cookies, and you get to decide _who_ you turn into?”

She still has little Shawn clutching her legs, moaning something but not daring to look to the men in the room for help. Gus kind of understands why she’s asking.

“Well, of course. Where’s the fun if you don’t?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Jules points in Lassie’s general direction and makes a gesture towards Shawn. 

“Then explain _this_.”

For about a second Woody just stares at her, face blank under the plastic bats. 

“What do you mean?”

“ _This_.” Again, she moves her hands around with so much pent-up rage that both men can almost feel the slap she’d rather be hitting them with. They wince simultaneously; it sort of worries Gus, having so much in common with the coroner, even if it’s just momentarily. “They were- Shit. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Again.” She grabs the kid, getting him off her clothes and letting his little arms clamp around her neck instead. “This was Shawn. Still is, I guess. And that,” she says, pointing at the dog currently focused on eating her TV wires, “is Carlton. Detective Lassiter, I mean,” she adds as an afterthought. Bearing in mind Woody’s inability to grasp names, Gus honestly wonders if he’s picturing the correct man, or if he’s just nodding in order to be polite.

“Woah. That’s kinky.”

A zap and a whine interrupt the conversation. Having learned his lesson and destroyed Juliet’s TV in the process, a mellowed out Lassie scatters up to them. Seeing the dog, half-asleep Shawn is immediately awake and ready to play again, and almost jumps from Juliet’s arms to the floor, kicking her in his desperate leap for his plush, furry companion.

“I hate you.” Juliet’s hiss could be directed at any of the people in the room. Probably at all of them at the same time.

“Well, I have no idea how that happened, but maybe Luz de Luna knows something?”

The coroner’s suggestion isn’t as well-received as he probably expected, but there’s no apparent danger of Juliet tearing anyone’s head off. One could argue that’s a step in the right direction. 

“So? What are you waiting for?”

***

Luz de Luna sounds either incredibly high or just plain crazy. Which is fitting for someone who’s apparently willing to spend her time with Woody, even -or especially- when he’s naked. 

She also shrieks like a banshee. It takes a while for Gus to register that the phone’s not on speaker.

“They did WHAT?”

After maybe ten minutes of Woody fiddling with the phone in search of her number and another five of frankly nauseating pet names - _poopy-butt_ is not Gus’ idea of cute by any means -, they’ve just managed to explain what’s happened to a very easily excitable witch-in-training, as she’s defined herself. Under her breath, Juliet has muttered a not quite so flattering alternative. 

“They turned, well, Shawn’s a dog.” Misinterpreting Juliet’s negative, Woody continues with his explanation. “I don’t usually judge, but I’m not sure the cookies were meant for that, you know.”

“Alright.” Luz de Luna’s voice probably doesn’t need the phone to reach them. “Why did they turn into dogs?”

“Oh, no. Only one’s a dog. The other’s a child?” The coroner looks at Gus, expecting some sort of confirmation on his part.

“That’s weird. Are you sure it was intentional?” 

Gus shrugs; Juliet shakes her head.

“Of course not! We didn’t know about the cookies!,” she protests. Woody informs his girlfriend, using a more measured tone; her answer, for one, is quiet enough that Gus can’t make it out. Both he and Juliet watch the coroner, holding their breaths while the older man nods and mutters something into the phone, hanging up with an X-rated comment that has the detective covering young Shawn’s ears.

“So.” Clearing his throat, Woody puts the phone away before facing them again. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”


	2. Chapter 2

Two days. That’s how long this should last, at most; at least, according to Woody’s less-than-trustworthy witch girlfriend. 

“I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a mom.” Juliet’s whine is lost among the chaos of cries and barks; Gus takes the first chance he gets to clutch little Shawn, getting him away from Lassie and imprisoning him in the strongest hug he can manage without strangling him. The boy kicks him repeatedly, sticking out his tongue when he manages to break away.

“I don’t think you’d be a mum, here,” he mumbles with some resentment. “More like a trainer.”

Plopping down next to her, both fall silent. They spend some time like that, contemplating the scene unfolding in front of their eyes. Chaotic as it is, it’s not much different from all the other encounters Shawn and Lassiter have been having over the years. All in all, they should be used to this. 

“I really need to sleep.” It’s Juliet who speaks up again. Gus can do nothing but nod, though he can’t for the life of him fathom how they’re going to get hyper Shawn and tireless Lassie to behave long enough for them to catch some z’s. Right now he’s almost missing Woody: but the coroner has abandoned ship, leaving them on their own to go and probably make use of the less special cookies he’d baked for the party.

“Do you think we can drug them?,” he finally asks. Her lips twist up in a tired smile. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” she jokes. Well, he thinks she’s joking, at least.

Unconsciously, more out of a desire to seek protection than anything, they’ve been inching closer together. By the time a fed-up Lassie comes to sit at their feet, they’re almost touching, both too tired to really bother getting away. Gus’ hand, apparently having a brain of its own, comes rest on top of Juliet’s. She doesn’t draw hers away.

Of course, this being Gus’ life, the peace can’t last.

“Ouch!” A vicious kick to the shin, courtesy of a clearly vindictive Shawn Spencer, interrupts his musings. Not happy with just crippling him, the boy sticks out his tongue again, and adds a rude and quite inappropriate gesture.

“I don’t like you,” he says, way too hateful for a five-year-old. “Get out!”

Standing up and putting on the scariest expression he can muster, Gus takes a step towards the little pest.

“Alright, that’s it! Off to bed with you!”

He manages to grab him once more; besides, this time he’s prepared for the kicks and the twisting little body. Shooting a questioning look at Juliet, he waits until she stands, too, signaling the door with her head.

“Take him to my room. I mean, if you don’t mind sleeping with him. The bed’s larger.”

Gus shrugs as well as he can and starts to walk, only to be stopped by a deep, resonating growl. He shivers.

“Or, we can sleep here. I really don’t mind.”

He should probably be worried that, a) he’s so quick to surrender these days, and b) he’s somehow learned to interpret Lassiter’s growls even when in dog shape. With a playful smirk, Jules nods; she gets close to him, plants a peck on little Shawn’s furrowed brow and whispers something in his ear. Almost immediately, the boy relaxes; Gus breathes out in relief.

“How did you-?”

“I’ve always been good with kids,” she shrugs. 

She pats the dog’s head before heading for the door herself; halfway there, though, she stops once more, goes back to where Gus is still holding Shawn, and kisses his cheek.

“Thank you, Gus. Being a single mum would’ve been much harder.”

***

The first thing they do in the morning is clean up. Gus tries to get tiny Shawn to help; in the end, though, he has to give up. As long as the kid doesn’t end up inside the trashcan  _ again _ , he supposes he’ll have to be happy. 

Juliet wakes up an hour later; by the time she gets downstairs, the room almost looks normal, barring the dog happily pursuing the kid all along the couch.

“Morning.” She takes her time answering, frowning as she contemplates the scene. Seemingly satisfied, she finally nods before walking towards both troublemakers. She doesn’t even have to shout: a quiet ‘stop!’ puts an end to the chase.

“Morning to you, too,” she tells Gus afterwards. There’s something comfortingly ordinary in the way she answers, in how she approaches him - not quite touching, but close enough to make it feel  _ private _ . He almost expects a kiss that  obviously  doesn’t come; everything seems to be taken out of a particularly poorly scripted sitcom, and he feels tempted to play along. 

Control yourself, Gus. This is  Juliet you’re talking about. There’s no Pluto line to be used here, no signature eyebrow move; there’s nothing but a sticky situation that’s going to last a couple of days and that’s going to make him late in his route  _ again _ . 

He’s definitely going to kill Shawn. 

“So, shall we grab some breakfast? My treat.” Apparently, Juliet has woken up in a good mood; she smiles widely, mainly at Gus, and even lets a tentative Lassie get close to her legs, sniff her before sitting and staring longingly. Patting the dog on the head, she’s quick to turn back to Gus again. “I know this little place next to the beach. We can let them run wild while we eat pancakes.”

If Gus’ memories of five-year-old Shawn are accurate, there’s probably going to be a lot less running around and much more pancake stealing than Juliet is expecting, but the central idea works for him, so he nods.

“We should probably clean them up a bit first, though,” he says. His co-parent agrees; with no warning, both of them hover over little Shawn, grabbing the unsuspecting and still mellow kid and taking him to the main bathroom. 

“I’m gonna get Carlton ready. You’re on your own here,” comes Jules’ warning once they cross the door. She still helps him undress the stinking, flailing boy, stopping right before reaching the underwear.

“It’s still Shawn in there,” she excuses herself, wrinkling her nose. “Not something I’d like to explain to him, once this is over.”

Which makes Gus wonder, very quietly, what exactly it is that she plans to do to get Lassie ‘ready’. Part of him doesn’t really want to know; the other half of his brain is way too busy thinking that she may be making the right call, and that leaving little Shawn to fend for himself is probably the smarter choice here. In two days he’s hopefully going to need to tell his best friend that he’s been dressing him, bathing him, and maybe even feeding him. 

Luckily, he muses, he’s also going to be able to vividly describe the moment Shawn has tried to ride Lassie’s new, furry body. It’ll probably balance itself out.

By the time he’s done cleaning up Shawn as well as he can, he’s soaked and has almost lost an eye, poked out by a vicious jab. Still, he congratulates himself before doing his best to get at least passably decent; he has no clothes to change into, but he makes do with a quick shower, grimacing a bit at having to wear the ones he’s just taken off again.

Juliet is waiting for both of them downstairs. Smiling and waving at little Shawn, she lets the kid run towards her, nods while he complains and chats away, giving Gus the stink eye at regular intervals before forgetting all about his bathroom adventure at the sight of a very suspicious Lassie.

Grabbing a jacket and gesturing at Gus to join her, Juliet takes Shawn’s hand, ignoring the boy’s protests, and starts walking towards the door. The dog follows at a healthy distance, still sniffing the air cautiously. 

“Come on. We can walk there; it’ll do us all good.”

***

It turns out to be quite a nice Saturday morning. Excited at being out, little Shawn spends most of his time running back and forth from them, never getting out of sight - Jules has been  _ really _ insistent on that - and faithfully followed by a reluctant Lassie. Just like in real life, Gus’ friend ends up being rescued on more than one occasion; instead of a deranged killer, though, he’s facing a nasty-looking stray cat and a small, yelping Pomeranian.

Gus and Juliet walk close behind, mostly just enjoying the chance to relax. He, at least, is trying very hard to see the bright side in all of this, mentally cataloguing every little thing he’s going to rub in Shawn’s face once this is over. If he feels particularly brave, he supposes there’s even a couple of butt-sniffing events he can bring up near Lassiter, too.

“So, thanks again. For coming.” Jules sounds much more composed than she did last night. If he didn’t know her as well as he thinks he does, he wouldn’t even notice the bags under her eyes, the slight twitch of her mouth here and there. Still, she’s doing great, bearing in mind the situation they’ve found themselves in.

“I couldn’t exactly, you know, stay away from  _ this _ .” He gestures at the happy pair ahead of them, Shawn seriously explaining to Lassie something he’s probably just made up. “Though I don’t think they’ve changed so much, you know,” he jokes. To his surprise, Juliet nods, frowning.

“I guess you’re right. They’re- I still can't believe it, you know.”

He shrugs.

"Once you accept the whole 'magic' thing, I guess it makes sense." Her eyebrow arches in interest, and she gestures for him to continue. "I mean, if there's anyone besides Woody that's going to get caught up in something like this, it's going to be Shawn. And he has a knack for dragging everyone else with him."

"Fair enough." Juliet smirks. "Also, I think their new shapes are- almost fitting."

She outright laughs evilly at her own comment while a shiver comes down Gus' spine. He's not sure he likes this Juliet as much as he likes the rest.

Still, she ends up pushing him slightly, good-naturedly, and winking.

"Just kidding," she tells him. "In any case, it's their own fault, you know. They've both got big mouths; it's just like Woody said."

Gus stops himself short of giving her an answer to that. Woody said a lot of things, most of which didn't make a lot of sense. 

"I'm pretty sure neither of them were exactly thinking about _this_ when they started bickering," he says, feeling compelled to somehow defend his best friend. Juliet shrugs. 

"I hope not. That'd be weird. Still, doesn't change the fact that it'll teach them to think things through next time. Especially," she whispers, glaring at the pair, but mostly at Lassie, "before calling anyone a 'five-year-old brat'."

Frowning, Gus has to quietly agree, though he seriously doubts any other insult Lassiter could have conceived to throw at Shawn would've had a better result. All in all, at least his friend is now pocket-sized.

"You know, I've been thinking. About, well, this. You and I."

Gulping, Gus turns to look at her. She's blushing slightly, but she still smiles, all brightness even now, even here.

“I’m sort of wondering what I would have turned into if I’d eaten one of those cookies,” she says, almost wistfully. Then she looks at him, eyes glinting in mischief. “Or you, for that matter.”

Gus is not exactly sure he wants to think about that for a long time. From what little Woody told them after his phone call to Luz de Luna, whatever one changes into after eating the damn things is tied to other people’s perceptions, wishes, and poorly-worded insults. Maybe Jules wouldn’t have changed much: if she’d been close to him, at least. He can’t really find a way to make her look  _ better _ than she already does. 

He doesn’t realize he’s talking out loud until she points it out to him, blushing a deeper red in the process.

“You’re not too bad yourself, you know,” she adds. “Even if you think that  _ Thor _ can beat Captain America.”

“Well, he’s a god.” She laughs, still somewhat nervously, and hits him on the arm. Again. He's going to bruise.

“Yeah, and he’s  _ Captain America _ . Like, he’s not going to give up just because he’s  _ human _ , you know.”

They start talking about comics after that. It’s a safe topic, one that lets them forget about their situation for a moment and revel instead on the fact that there’s nobody there calling them nerds or looking at them with disdain. It also lets them ignore what they’ve just said, even if they’re still looking at each other more often than they would on any given day. 

They get to the café half an hour later; an exhausted and quite hungry Shawn climbs onto the first chair he sees, trying to get Lassie on the one right next to it. The waiter, who’s just got out to take their order, looks at them disapprovingly. Gus is quick to intervene.

“We’ll need a couple of minutes,” he assures the frowning man. Meanwhile, Jules gets everyone settled in a more or less socially-appropriate manner, apologizing quietly to Lassiter when she gets him out of the chair.

They order full brunch plates, with a stake of pancakes each and an infinite amount of coffee. Shawn eats a bit out of his own food before deciding it’s much better to let Lassie eat it; squealing happily all the while, he then proceeds to steal part of Gus’ breakfast.

“It’s- a bit uncomfortable, honestly,” says Juliet after a while. “Having them, you know. And I mean, it’s not like Shawn’s acting  _ so _ weird, you see. But, I’m going to have to look Carlton in the eye in a couple of days. I hope. And, and I’m pretty sure  _ this _ is what I’m going to be thinking about.”

She’s right. This is not a scene Gus is going to forget easily. 

“There’s a lot of blackmail material here, that’s for sure,” is his answer. A malevolent glint shines in Juliet’s eyes at the thought.

“I  _ do _ have a lot of paperwork to do. Could use some help, I guess.”

That seems to do the trick. Belatedly, Gus realizes he’s using Shawn’s distraction techniques, turning the situation on its head so that it doesn’t look as bad as it is. But it’s working - it usually works, now that he thinks about it -, so that’s something. Maybe his best friend’s view of life isn’t so wrong, really. At least, not when there’s magic involved.

“Oh. Great. Now I’m turning into Shawn.”

Too late, he realizes that he may not have chosen the best wording for that. Juliet stares at him, alarmed; she even stops covertly helping little!Shawn transport Gus’ last pancake to his own dish.

“What? How? I thought there were no more cookies!”

“No! I, I don’t mean that  _ literally _ .” Her worry turns into light anger; she squints and hits him with the napkin.

It turns out to be a bad decision: Shawn seems to take it as an invitation to do exactly the same, and it takes them a while to convince him to stop. Probably feeling like the rules don’t apply to those who aren’t seated at the table, the kid stands up and arms himself with a couple of clean napkins with which to torment Lassie for a while.

“Best we’re going to get.”

Juliet agrees with him, tiredly watching the two figures running towards the beach.

“We should probably follow them. Make sure nobody drowns. Or, well. We can also drown them ourselves.”

They gesture for the waiter, leaving him a large tip along with the tab. The man still purses his lips, takes great pains so that they get to see money can’t fix  _ everything _ . 

On their way to the beach, they walk closely, their hands almost touching. Jules’ lips twitch slightly; they’re still quite far from their friends when she grabs him by the elbow, stops him so that they face each other.

“Don’t turn into Shawn. Please. Not even metaphorically.” 

There’s something  _ intense _ in the way she says it, something that would have him gasping for air in any other situation. As it is, he can’t allow himself to wonder what exactly it is she means by that. 

“Yeah. I don’t think he’d be much help here,” he concedes. She smiles widely, shakes her head.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

In any decent film, that exchange would be followed by a kiss; a long, deep one that’d stop the world and mute everything else, leaving only them, maybe a soft music score in the background, and a sunset. As it is, the best the universe gives them is half a second of peace, followed by a long, pained howl, and a desperate wail.

“Shit.”

Jules is the first one to run, reaching the shore just in time to see little Shawn’s head disappear beneath the water. Taking off her shoes and leaving her bag on top of them, she gets in after him in less than a second; she’s followed by a clearly scared Lassie. It takes Gus almost ten more seconds to get to the water; he’s gasping for air, breathes in deeply before taking his first step towards them.

He ends up stopping just a moment later, at the sight of a completely damp Juliet clutching little Shawn’s hand with a lot more force than it is strictly needed. The child seems to still be in shock; right behind them, the dog walks happily, tongue lolling, and even barks at Gus welcomingly.

“You are  _ so  _ grounded, Shawn.”

Juliet’s threat falls on deaf ears, though. The little boy, on the verge of tears, starts running towards Gus as soon as he sees him, hugging his legs and breaking into dramatic sobs, and he’s not heartless enough not to return the hug.

After that episode, it takes a while for little Shawn to regain his confidence. He keeps walking close to them, as far away from the waves as he can manage without completely losing his grasp on Gus’ clothes. They slowly make their way back home, Jules’ shirt and pants clinging to her in a way that’s mostly ridiculous. She starts to shiver at some point, and it just feels natural for Gus to put his arm around her shoulders in an effort to keep her warm.

***

Once they’ve all showered and cleaned up, they set up camp in Juliet’s living room once again. They let Shawn discover his artistic side with some crayons and paper, hoping against all hope that he’ll stick to the materials he’s been given and not attempt to paint the walls or, worse still, Lassie’s fur. The dog is also surprisingly subdued, observing whatever the kid’s in the process of creating with interest, whining for attention now and then.

Gus takes the chance to change into some clothes Juliet’s given him. They’re her brother’s - which one, even she’s not sure -, and they’re way too big and tasteless, but they’ll do for now. 

Now clean and almost feeling like himself again, he sits up next to his host. She’s absorbed, studying Shawn and Lassiter with an interest that’s less sprinkled with worry that Gus would’ve guessed. Only when he speaks does she turn, breaking the spell and bringing herself back to normal. 

“Thank you,” is Gus’ first comment. Juliet nods, smiling.

“Doesn’t look great, I have to say,” she tells him. He smiles back, shrugs.

“Hey, not everybody can pull the ‘I just robbed the Salvation Army store’ look.” Though he never says the name, both of them look briefly at little Shawn. The kid’s wearing one of Juliet’s SBPD t-shirts, though on him it looks like a particularly ugly dress.

“I guess not,” she concedes. Her hand is resting right in the middle of the couch, moving slightly; unconsciously, Gus lets his fall right next to it. Juliet pretends not to notice, but she bites her lip, shyly, and her smile grows wider. “What do you feel like doing after lunch? I mean, I expect even at this size Shawn is going to want lunch.”

Gus nods in agreement. His head moves a bit, millimeters closer to hers; they’re so close his supersmeller is almost overwhelmed. Juliet’s scent is strong, a mix of something fruity and sweet and  _ hers _ , something that makes him forget about Pluto and Myra and all the other girls. 

“We could go to the park, maybe,” he suggests. Jules’ hand crosses the gap to reach his, fingers intertwining while a wonderful warmth spreads throughout his whole body. “Tire them out. As long as nobody falls down the wrong slide or anything.”

It is her turn to agree; she does so squeezing his hand lightly, drawing some sort of abstract figure on the back with her thumb. Gus blinks, and when his eyes open again her face is so close to his that he can almost  _ touch _ it.

Countless pictures swarm his mind. Images of Juliet’s laugh, her eyes widening whenever Shawn does something that’s so stupid it’s almost genious; the way she blushes almost imperceptibly when she gets invested in a conversation, every time she argues with Lassiter. That slight tremble of her lips when she’s trying very hard not to snap, and failing; and her smile, that same smile she’s sporting now, wide and clean and healthy. She’s way out of your league, Burton Guster; only she isn’t. She’s right here, right now. And she wants him to kiss her. 

So he does.

It’s sweet and timid, a brief touch and they’re apart again. This time, though, their smiles are gone, replaced with a spark of lust and need; their lips find each other once more after that, longer and wetter and more intense. She makes a tiny sound that’s echoed by his moan, hands leaving the couch to tangle themselves up in her hair while she grabs his neck, the ugly t-shirt he’s wearing, anything that’ll bring him closer. Eyes closed, every nerve in their bodies so focused on  _ this _ , on  _ now _ and  _ yes _ and  _ more,  _ neither of them sees it coming.

In retrospect, of course, they should have.

The first crayon hits Gus on the head. It doesn’t really hurt; he wouldn’t even pay attention to it, honestly, was it not accompanied by a loud, very aggressive bark and a set of teeth closing around his shin. The bite doesn’t do much more than break his skin: it’s more of a warning, he thinks, than a serious attempt at hurting him. But, in any case, their saboteurs succeed: they separate, cursing and flailing about, and Juliet stands, hands on her hips, an absolutely  _ pissed off _ look on her face.

“What do you think you’re doing? Leave him alone!”

Lassie growls at her, but it’s a sort of poor imitation of what he’s been doing. He retreats, ears lowered, still trying to make himself seem like a legitimate threat; he looks so much like his human self in that moment that Gus starts to think that they may have been too quick to assume he couldn’t actually  _ understand _ them.

But while Lassie’s easily taken care of, Shawn is a different matter. Snarling and armed as he is with his borrowed set of crayons, he throws another one, this time aimed at Juliet’s head. It misses its target by inches; undeterred, the boy grabs a third one, a beautiful dark green, and carefully aims. It hits Jules square on the chest.

“Shawn?” She’s menacing, and to his credit, the kid manages to hold her gaze for at least two seconds before giving up. “Shawn, what are you doing?”

And that’s the moment Shawn Spencer has no chance but to recognize that he’s lost. He lowers his head, lets the crayons fall to the floor; unable to meet Juliet’s eyes again, he uses the one thing he can still weaponize.

He starts to cry.

***

The whole thing lasts for almost an hour. Shawn’s inconsolable wailing will probably ring in Gus’ ears for years after this; that is, if he’s not too busy remembering every single embarrassing second of him taking his best friend in his arms, cuddling and shushing him. 

But, though it’s stretched his patience far beyond its usual limits, he’s at least got Shawn to shut up. Now calm and almost collected - even if he’s still pouting a bit -, the kid looks angelical, his tiny hands fisted over the hem of Gus’ shirt while he sits in his lap.

Juliet has taken the chance to walk around the house, cleaning some of the things Gus didn’t get around to taking out of the room this morning. She’s been faithfully followed by Lassie, tail wagging and a weirdly alert attitude whenever they’ve been close to Gus. There’s been no outright growling, at least; that’s a step forward, even if it’s a tiny one. 

“So, now what?”

She sits on the couch, right next to them; her hand moves over to pat Shawn’s head and stops to rest over Gus’ thigh. He feels blood rush to his face, but says nothing.

“I guess we could watch a movie. Something, you know, something he’ll like. And get something to eat. I’m afraid babysitting isn’t much fun.”

Juliet smiles good-naturedly and nods. 

“Sounds good enough. I’m not in the mood for a lot of excitement today, anyway,” she admits. 

They choose  _ Hocus Pocus _ \- still running on TV even though it’s already past Halloween - and settle down with some popcorn. At the sight of food, Shawn seems to promptly forget all of his problems, opting instead to munch as many as he can, as fast as his tiny mouth will allow. 

They’re halfway through the movie when the kid stops paying attention altogether, gets down and sits next to Lassie’s unnervingly still body. The dog huffs, but doesn’t move; Shawn almost jumps on top of him, but finally seems to decide on lying with his head on the dog’s body. Happy to have some peace and quiet at last, both Juliet and Gus willfully ignore the other two for the rest of the film.

***

Bedtime comes sooner than expected. Yawning, little Shawn still has enough energy to argue against his body’s need to actually sleep; it takes all of Gus’ patience to get him to move to the main bedroom. They’re followed both by Lassie, sniffing around for any imminent danger, and Juliet, who just makes sure that they’ve got everything they need handy.

“Alright. We’ll sleep here, and you both-” Gus doesn’t get to finish the sentence; before he can even lay properly on the bed, Shawn has grabbed Lassie’s ear and brought the dog on top of them both. It’s not something Gus would like to be talking about, once this is all over.

Clearly amused, Juliet looks at them for a couple of seconds without interfering. Then, she shrugs.

“Whatever. I’ll change the sheets tomorrow, anyway,” she tells them. Gus shoots her a desperate look. Sleeping with Lassiter, no matter how cuddly his new body seems to be, is  _ not _ something he’s looking forward to.

But Shawn is clutching the dog’s ear tightly with his free hand; he’d probably rip it off if he tried to separate them right now. Not that Lassie’s complaining, either. He seems to find the crowded bed quite comfortable, if his light snoring is to be believed.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Jules,” he tries again, just loud enough that everybody in the room can ignore him. When she says nothing, he sighs.

“Guess I get to be the bad guy.”

Juliet smirks at that, arching an eyebrow and merely observing as he grabs little Shawn’s hands away from the dog’s fur and pushes Lassie out of the mattress. Though he barks, he does so quietly, and doesn’t seem very inclined to fight in order to stay. The kid, of course, is a different matter.

“Noooooo! Bad Gus!” He hits him with his hands balled into fists, threatens to bite him. At that moment, Gus thinks he’s starting to understand Henry Spencer a little bit better.

“I’ll leave,” he warns. That stops the boy: with huge eyes, he looks up at him and blinks before shaking his head.

“But-”

“See? I’m leaving.” He even gets up, though he doesn’t get very far. Shawn’s eyes water.

“Don’t!”

The boy’s fists close around his shirt again, clutching for dear life. He’s pouting, in a move that usually works even when it’s grown-up Shawn who does it. With a sigh, Gus tells himself to be strong, and shakes his head again.

“Are you going to behave?,” he asks. Shawn nods, pleads and promises in a series of high-pitched whines until Gus finally relents and goes back to bed with him, all thoughts of bringing the dog to bed luckily forgotten.

“Looks like you’ve got it all under control. At this rate, you’ll be father of the year in no time,” is what Jules tells him in mock-awe. Gus shrugs uncomfortably from his spot on the bed. 

With a smile, she switches off the lights before getting out, leaving him to deal with the mess currently burrowing against his side.

“Mine,” is the last thing little Shawn says, trying his best to spread his tiny body on top of him. He dozes off right after that.


	3. Chapter 3

Gus opens one eye to find a long, hairy arm clutching him uncomfortably close to what he, from his position, can only assume is one full-grown Shawn Spencer, back to not-quite-normal again.

Okay. He can work with this. He’s been in this situation before, mainly with a pounding headache to top it off; he just needs to carefully step out of the bed before this gets _worse_.

Doing his best not to wake his best friend up, he tries to shake the arm off and escape. Of course, he fails miserably: once asleep, Shawn is apparently made of glue.

After much tossing and being subtle, he gives up. He really needs to get up, get out of that room: someone has to tell Jules the magic’s apparently worn off; also, that way he’ll be able to leave, come back once everything’s settled back into normalcy. He’s not being a _coward_ , he tells himself: he’s just following his self-preservation instincts. Honestly, Gus is not sure how Lassiter’s going to take to the whole ‘having been a dog’ thing, but he’d bet that won’t have a happy ending.

So he grabs his best friend’s wrist, and he freezes.

“Hmph.”

A groan. One that’s deep enough _not_ to have come out of Shawn’s throat. 

Great. Just _great_.

Praying that he’ll be faster than Lassiter, he tears the arm off himself, scrambles out of the bed and falls promptly to the floor. By the time he’s managed to stand up again, the older man is almost awake; more worryingly, he’s _naked_ . As in, bare-ass somewhere beneath the covers. That’s a picture Gus didn’t need, honestly; neither does he want the idea that accompanies it. Has he really been naked this whole time? Jules didn’t say anything about clothes, and tiny Shawn had a shrunk down version of whatever he’d been wearing before, _but-_

Shuddering, he pushes the thought down into the darkest depths of his mind.

Sadly, his coming to terms has lasted long enough to give Lassiter plenty of time to wake up completely. From the blush spreading through the man’s face and, somehow, almost reaching his chest, Gus can kind of tell when he realizes the situation he’s in.

“Guster?”

He nods carefully, unable for some reason to stop staring in horrified silence.

“Guster, what’s going on?”

“Uh, eh.” Real smooth there, Gus. Now he kind of gets why nobody ever chooses him to give a speech.

“Shit. I need to get out of here.”

Still blushing, the detective gets out of the bed. Before Gus has time to close his eyes in a panic, though, he sort of remembers he’s naked; he clutches the sheets he woke up wrapped in against his body, does his best to cover himself up.

It’s not nearly enough, in Gus’ humble opinion.

They get out of the room without speaking or even looking at each other; every few seconds, Lassiter clears his throat, as if he was trying to think of _something_ to say, but that’s all. The tense silence lasts up until they reach the almost decent living-room; there, they find an apparently chill, grown-up Shawn Spencer and a glass of orange juice.

“Hey man! You’re awake!,” he happily greets them. “Just in time: I need to know, where does Jules keep pancakes? I’m _starving_. A kid’s menu is not really enough; Gus, you should’ve known better than that!”

Blinking owlishly, it takes Gus almost a whole minute to react. Lassiter is faster.

“Spencer! What the hell is going on?”

With a smirk that’s downright _evil_ , Shawn answers while Gus’ internal voice pleads for him not to.

“You mean, you don’t remember being all fuzzy and soft and hairy-er, Lassiepants?”

The detective blushes even more deeply, raises a hand to his left ear and unconsciously rubs it. 

“That wasn’t-?” Shawn shakes his head. “You mean-?” A nod this time; Lassiter’s next attempt at speaking comes out as just a long, almost animal-like growl.

“See? Side effects, like my _stomach_ growing while the food remained _very small_.”

Shawn accompanies that sentence with a glare in Gus’ direction. Reacting at last, his best friend returns it.

“How long have you been here, Shawn?,” he asks. As an afterthought, he adds: “And, do you remember _everything_?”

In his defence, Shawn seems to feel at least slightly embarrassed. Not that it shows, of course.

“Yeah. And I woke up a while ago, found our little _manager atroz_ , went to drink some bleach or something.” 

“Oh. Okay.” For a moment, Gus doesn’t know what to say. Then, eyeing Shawn’s obviously covered torso, he decides it can’t hurt to ask. “Were you also-? I mean, were you also _naked_?”

His friend shakes his head.

“I had a very, very tight t-shirt on. I don’t think Jules is going to be using it anymore, to be honest.” He pauses to drink a gulp of his orange juice. Glancing at the still naked man behind Gus, he smirks. “By the way, Lassie: you can thank me later.”

“What do you mean?” Suspicious being his middle name, Lassiter squints at him, wrinkles his nose. Gus almost expects him to start barking.

“The covers, man. You know, you were _on top_ of them when I got out of that mess.” He, for some unfathomable reason Gus cannot and doesn’t want to understand, feels the need to _laugh_. “I promise you, I didn’t peek. Much.”

Lassiter’s face twists, a mixture of rage and embarrassment that is nothing short of ridiculous given the situation. Apparently, Shawn’s thinking the same, because his smile grows larger. 

“Come on, Lassie. You should find something a bit more decent to wear, don’t you think? I mean, unless you’ve taken a liking to the whole naturist look you’ve been sporting.”

The detective snarls in his direction, though he clutches the covers closer to his body.

“I don’t know how this is your fault _yet_ , Spencer, but I swear I’m going to-”

“Okay, okay; stop it!” With some surprise, Gus hears himself speak; he even plants a hand on Lassiter’s shoulder, though it is quickly shrugged off. “I’m going to go find Juliet, alright? Lassiter, try not to kill Shawn for a few minutes.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Gus: he’s been properly trained, haven’t you?”

All in all, if he _only_ murders the psychic, Lassie would still be showing restraint.

***

Gus knocks quietly on the guest room’s door; barely ten seconds later, he hears noise inside, and a sleepy, dishevelled Juliet opens it. She’s wearing pink pajamas, and her hair is tied up in a ponytail; she looks adorable, in Gus’ admittedly very biased opinion.

“Morning!,” she says, way more perky than she has any right to. For about a second he almost forgets what he came to tell her; it only lasts for an instant, though.

“Hey,” he finally answers. “I think you may want to see this.” Suddenly thinking about the things she won’t actually want to see, though, he adds. “Also, do you happen to have some very large spare clothes?”

Downstairs, surprisingly, both now grown and human-shaped men are still alive and well. They seem to almost be getting along, with Lassiter having taken a seat on the couch, covered as he is with the bedsheets. 

Shawn stands as soon as he sees Gus and Jules get there, a wide smile on his face. Almost unconsciously, the blonde detective takes a small step back when he comes closer.

“You’re… back!” She sounds more relieved than happy; Gus can’t blame her. If not for the shock of waking up next to a naked Lassiter, he’d probably be feeling the same.

“Yep. Also, hungry,” is Shawn’s response once it becomes apparent that hugs are out of order for now. “I need to eat a lot, you know; I’m still growing.”

Cracking up a bit at that, Juliet nods, bites her lip. She promises to go get some breakfast; she’s got no pancakes, but there have to be cookies somewhere, and she may have a couple of pop-tarts, too. 

“But, well, Carlton? You should probably get dressed first.” Once his name is mentioned, the older man moves, expertly avoiding Juliet’s eyes as he takes the clothes she’s offering. “They fell off when you- changed, you know.”

“Thank you, O’Hara.”

Awkwardly, he gets out of the room; Shawn’s eyes follow him out with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What if I-?”

“Don’t even _think_ about it, Shawn.”

If this whole misadventure has brought something positive, it’s Jules’ improved ability to snip the psychic’s terrible ideas before they bloom. With some luck, it’s a gift that will last longer than a day.

“Aw, Jules; you’re no fun at all.”

“And you’re not five anymore, Shawn. So, stop it.”

Pouting and looking every bit like his younger self would have in this very same situation, the psychic slumps on the couch again. They spend a few moments in silence; then, Gus voices the question that’s been bothering him for a while.

“So, if you had Lassiter’s clothes, but not Shawn’s,” he says, looking between Jules and his friend, “where did _you_ get those you’re wearing?”

Shawn taps the side of his nose with his index finger.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” is his smug, very irritating answer. 

Now that he thinks about it, he almost misses five-year-old Shawn.

Once Lassiter’s fully dressed, Juliet makes good on her promise. Some coffee, scrambled eggs and cookies later, the four of them fall into a tense, uncomfortable silence. Weirdly enough, it is the oldest of the men the first to break it.

“Well, we probably shouldn’t talk about this. Ever.”

It is more than obvious what he’s referring to. Gus couldn’t agree more.

“Oh, man, but it’s been _so much fun_! I keep having flashes, Lassie; don’t you?”

For a moment, Gus fears Shawn is actually serious. Fun? Not even for a moment, he tells himself; though he almost immediately thinks back to that kiss with Juliet, and his resolve not to even think about this weekend in the future wavers.

“I don’t think you’re remembering things correctly, Shawn,” is Jules’ answer. There’s a smirk on her lips, and Gus just _knows_ that this is going to be a long conversation.

“O’Hara, don’t-”

Lassiter’s attempt to stop Juliet is half-hearted at best. As such, it is easily ignored; and, even though the older man spends the whole time groaning and trying to sink into the couch, disappear under the floor tiles beneath, he still stays there, stoically putting up with Juliet’s minutious recounting of the last day and a half.

He also, Gus realizes, keeps touching his ear, a look of increasing horror on his face as the story unfolds.

By the time they reach the almost drowning incident, even Shawn is blushing slightly. He hasn’t lost his good humour, of course, but there’s some shame in there, too. A true achievement on Juliet’s part: Gus hasn’t seen his best friend this embarrassed since that prom night they swore they’d never talk about.

“Okay, okay: I get it. I’ve been a pest.” She smirks, the corner of her lips twitching up, and shrugs.

“Your words, not mine.”

“So, he hasn’t behaved all that differently from how he usually does.” For the first time, Lassiter seems to actually see the bright side in all this. His comment, though, earns him a poisoned, faux-mocking stare from Shawn.

“Yeah, we didn’t change _that_ _much_ , Lassie.”

It’s the detective’s turn to glare; not that the psychic pays much attention to it, of course. Back to normal, it is.

***

They decide to leave after lunch. Before that they help Juliet clean up, with Shawn joking here and there - mainly at Lassie’s expense - and all of them trying not to make their staring at one another too uncomfortable. They’re done just in time to order in some Chinese, eat it in the middle of a silence that’s so uncomfortable even Lassiter feels the need to break it at one point. 

“So, ehm, we’d better go. Thanks for the food, O’Hara.”

He’s the first to stand, carefully avoiding everyone else’s eyes while he straightens up his clothes. A hand on his arm, though, keeps him from leaving, and he waits instead until Juliet has stood up, a smile quivering on her lips.

“We should probably forget about this whole weekend,” she suggests. All three men nod quickly, and though the uneasiness is still there, everyone does their best to pretend it isn’t. 

Goodbyes are warmer than the rest of the morning has been, with Shawn hugging Juliet too tightly for Gus’ liking, and even Lassiter doing something that could, if looked at from the right angle, be considered _smiling_. Once it’s his turn, he feels sweaty and shaky, offers up a hand while Jules looks at him with a big, uncomfortable question in her eyes. She leans a bit towards him, as if expecting a kiss; they settle for a hug, Gus looking at Shawn through the corner of his eye, half hoping his very best friend in the world would just get out of there for a minute.

Right before they separate, Juliet’s lips graze his cheek. Not everything, he thinks, has been _that_ bad these past two days. 

All three men look slightly relieved once they cross the door. Shawn and Lassiter walk a couple of steps before Gus, not quite looking at each other. There’s some sort of communication going on there, Gus thinks with surprise: one that’s probably full of barely concealed irritation and a weird almost fondness. Those two, he muses, should work on that at some point.

They’ve almost reached the Blueberry when Lassiter, out of nowhere, shoves Shawn carefully, weakly, still not saying a word. While Gus is still recovering from the shock of seeing such a sign of - dare he say - almost _affection_ , his best friend breathes deeply and turns to face him.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. No need to get _physical_ , Lassiepants.”

Apparently satisfied, the detective takes a couple steps away from the car, giving them enough space that it almost looks as if they actually have some privacy.

“So, Gus. I’ve been doing some thinking. Talked to Jiminy Cricket over there,” he adds, pointing at Lassiter. Although Gus is very curious as to when and where that’s been going on, he’s much more worried about whatever his best friend is going to say, so he lets him talk, a frown the only sign that he’s listening. “Alright. About the weekend, you see. And the whole thing with Jules, just now, and, and I guess it’s been happening for a while.” 

This, Gus thinks, is taking forever. Still, it does seem like Shawn is actually getting somewhere, or trying to; he’s more than willing to wait. He nods, and his friend takes a deep, deep breath.

“Man, I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been a bit of a brat.”

Literally, Gus wants to add; but this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, getting to see Shawn Spencer actually apologize, so he lets it go.

“But, you know, I don’t mind _it_. Not really. I mean,” he starts again, seemingly finding the start of the thread that will unravel his ideas. Gus braces himself, prepared for almost anything. Almost. “What I want to say is, you should go get her, Gus. She won’t be waiting for you forever.”

At this, Gus furrows his brow, slightly confused.

“Are you-? Do you have a fever, Shawn? Is this some kind of side effect? Are you feeling well?”

His friend has the nerve to smile at that, pat him in the back and shake his head.

“I’m fine, Gus.”

“But, but- What about-?” He thinks back to little Shawn, to the kick to his shin and the loud wailing. To not-so-little Shawn and his shameless flirting. His frown grows deeper. “What about you, Shawn? Aren’t you-?”

The psychic shrugs. 

“Let’s just say there are plenty of bigger fish to fry in the Santa Barbara ocean.” His gaze trails off; before Gus has a chance to follow it, though, he gets pushed towards the apartment again. “Come on, man. How’s that saying? _Carpa ccio_.”

“Do you mean _carpe diem_ ?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

He starts walking without even realizing it; he doesn’t get to take more than a couple steps, though, before a hand in his shoulder stops him.

“You hurt her, Guster, you’re dead,” is all Lassiter has to say. There’s no real heat behind it, though. Still, he’s pretty sure the older man knows how to hide a body.

He lets her go after that; all in all, he thinks that’s the closest to approval he can expect from the Head Detective. Not even pausing to muse about what he’s doing, he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get to the apartment, and he knocks.

She is, indeed, waiting for him.

“Ehm, Jules, I know it’s a bit late for this but,” As best as he can, he musters what he really hopes is a winning smile and not some sort of grimace, “trick or treat?”


End file.
